Star
by An Actual Lion
Summary: Entry for the MLK Writing Contest #33, using the 'If Simba was never found by Timon and Pumbaa' prompt. Warnings: Character Death


How long had it been! Days for sure, possibly weeks. Simba couldn't remember how long he had wandered the desert since that day. Splinters still plagued his skin from the tumble down through thistles. His paw pads were covered in painful blisters that seemed to sizzle on the hot sand with each step. The cub couldn't help but feel that this was his punishment for causing the death of his beloved father. How he regretted that day. The memory of watching the great king plummet to his death appeared to him whenever Simba closed his eyes. He couldn't sleep, couldn't rest, couldn't blink without a reminder that this was all his fault.

Above him, Simba could very faintly hear the screeches of the vultures that hovered overhead. Peeling back his lips, Simba snarled at them weakly, trying to warn them off. He wasn't dead yet! But the buzzards were persistent, ignoring his warnings. The cub swore he heard them laughing at him. Laughing. Just like those hyenas. Those stupid hyenas! Their words echoed in his mind.

"If you ever come back, we'll kill you!"

Hot tears ran down Simba's cheeks, the only wetness he'd felt since the day of the stampede. There was no water anywhere. No shade, no shelter. Nothing. Just a vast wasteland of golden sand and dead trees. Angry, Simba collapsed to the ground, howling in anguish. He cried for his mother, for Nala, even for Zazu. How he wished this was all a terrible dream. That Sarabi would nudge him awake soon, and soothe him. Mufasa would be there, reassuring Simba that he was fine, that he was still there. But Simba knew this was a fruitless wish. That this desert would be his end, and there was no way out.

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry…" Simba whimpered, smacking the ground angrily with his paws. "I take back everything! I'll be good! I won't sneak out anymore, I won't tease Zazu, I won't talk back! Please, I'll do anything!" He turned his gaze to the sky, where the vultures still circled him threateningly. His grimace softened as he watched them. They were almost mesmerizing. He didn't even notice how blurry his vision was getting, how his head became too heavy to hold up. Defeated, he collapsed to the ground on his side, eyelids fluttering. They too were much too heavy now. The cub didn't even fight the darkness clouding his vision. As his eyes finally succumbed to the exhaustion, he saw the claws of the vultures land in front of him, and heard the flapping of their wings closing in on him.

When Simba came to, it was dark, and much cooler. He was still in the desert, but unlike the previous day, he felt no thirst, no exhaustion, no hunger. Anything. He felt nothing. The blisters and splinters were gone too. Shocked, Simba looked at his pads, unbelieving of the utter lack of burns and injury that had been there what felt like only seconds before. He felt his chest swell as he began to wonder if his wish had come true. If everything that had happened was just an awful nightmare, one that he had finally woke up from. But, looking around, Simba saw that he was still in the middle of the desert, completely alone. And his heart sank once more.

The buzzards had also disappeared. No longer did he hear their screeches and laughter. Where had they gone? Why had they followed him for so long only to leave him completely untouched. All this was so confusing to Simba. Was he dreaming? He poked himself with a claw to test. "Ouch!" He exclaimed, feeling the familiar prick. He was surely awake. But these new discoveries unnerved him. It didn't add up.

Simba continued wandering through the sand with a faster gait, now that his energy had returned to him. As he galloped, he felt no need to stop. Like he could run forever. Cautiously, he cried out, "Hello?" Into the emptiness. No response, as there had been previously. But now his voice echoed in such an eerie fashion that Simba began to run faster. What if this was worse than the dry heat of the previous days? What if this was his new punishment? To be alone forever. Never to hear the voice of a fellow being again.

At this thought Simba stopped running, the feeling of tears returning to his eyes once again. His voice hitched in a sob as he ran more sloppily. Tripping over his own paws, Simba collapsed into the sand, spraying it upwards in his tumble. Looking up after his fall, Simba's eyes widened with fear as he watched the sand dance into the sky like smoke. Like clouds. The ex prince lay frozen with fear as he watched more particles of sand disappear into the night sky.

The sky…. It too was strange. The stars were much brighter than they usually were, as if they were closer. One in particular seemed to be growing ever larger, approaching Simba at a fast pace. At first, Simba thought he was merely seeing things, for stars didn't move. But as it grew ever closer, Simba realized that he was not seeing things. It was coming for him.

Desperately, Simba scrambled to his paws and took off sprinting in the direction he had come from, refusing to look behind him for fear of how close the bright entity was. He panted heavily, pumping his short legs even faster than when the hyenas had been on his tail. His heart jumped into his throat when he heard the ever louder sound of heavy paw steps in the sand behind him. It was big. Huge even. Bigger than any hyena. Simba tried to run faster, but he was already sprinting as hard as he could. The sound of paws grew louder and louder until Simba could feel the gentle spray of soft sand at his heels. He fought the urge to look behind him, terrified of what horror was so close to catching him.

This was it.

A huge, warm paw wrapped around his stomach and pulled him into a large pillowy mane. The grip was firm but gentle, and Simba felt no presence of claws on his flesh. Still shaking with fear, Simba covered his eyes, sobbing rather violently as he awaited for whatever death the foreign beast wished for him. He only hoped it would be quick.

"Simba." A deep voice shook Simba to his core. The voice. It was _his_ voice. "Simba it's me." It couldn't be. It couldn't be him. He had died in the stampede. 'Son it's me!" Slowly, Simba uncovered his eyes, hesitantly looking up at the voice's owner.

There he was, his gentle, relieved smile. His kind eyes. It was him. Just like Simba had remembered him. The face that had appeared to him each time he closed his eyes ever since that terrible day at the gorge. "Dad…" Simba croaked. Tears still flowed from the cub's eyes, but they were no longer tears of fear and sadness. They were tears of joy. Such joy that Simba had never felt before in his life. "Daaaad!" He shouted, burying himself in Mufasa's mane, embracing his father tighter than he ever had before.

Mufasa placed a paw on Simba's back, trying to calm the child down as he struggled to speak in between sobs. "It's okay Simba. I'm here now… I've got you…" The once great King smiled warmly at his son, tears budding at the edge of his own eyes as he was reunited with his son again.

"B-but Dad…" Simba sniffled, wiping his face messily on his paw. "You w-were dead. The stampede… Uncle Scar… He-he said-" Mufasa hushed Simba, holding him even closer. "How did you survive? How did you find me?" Simba questioned, looking up at his father with curious, confused eyes. "Where's mom? And Nala? Are they mad at me? I'm sorry…" He buried his face in Mufasa's chest again, feeling the heavy weight of guilt on himself once more.

Mufasa's face fell, and a single tear fell down his muzzle. "Oh Simba, it's not your fault… There's something I have to tell you." He tilted Simba's face upwards, so he could look the cub in the eyes as he delivered his news with a heavy heart. "I didn't make it out of the stampede Simba. I am… dead." He revealed. Simba was stunned, like his father had slapped him in the face with all his strength. "And… my son… You are too…."

"What? But…" Simba backed away from his father, hyperventilating. "That's not true! I'm still alive! I'm still in the desert! I'm stil-"

"Simba…" The red maned lion urged him to look at the ground. "What does all this look like to you Simba?" He asked, a deep sadness present in his voice and on his face.

The cub looked at his feet. He answered in a soft voice. "It's sand…"

Mufasa shook his head and swiped some of it with his paw. Like before, it floated up in wisps, like mist. "These are clouds, my son. And those…" He pointed to the sky, and the stars that grew ever closer to them. "Those are our new home. Do you remember the story of the Great Kings of the Past I told you Simba?" Mufasa asked as the bright lights surrounded them, bathing the two golden lions in a calming glow. Simba nodded weakly as he watched the stars fade into more solid, feline shapes. "Now…" Mufasa began, looking around him as lions and lionesses appeared from the stars that had descended to fetch them, to bring them home. "We are a part of them."

"But…." Simba began, sinking himself down into the soft clouds below his paws. "Mom… Nala…"

"It is not yet their time." One of the ghostly lionesses answered gently, placing a paw on Simba's shoulder. "But you will see them again one day." She smiled at him, warmly, pulling him in for a soft embrace. "It's time to go home now, you will watch over them from above."

Simba looked to his father, who nodded silently. "Come on Simba. It's time for us to go…" Mufasa beckoned Simba to him. Simba looked back up at the lioness for a brief moment, thinking she looked familiar, like his father, and his uncle Scar. She smiled back down at him, nudging him towards his father, who she looked at knowingly. Mufasa took a deep breath, and said, "Are you ready son?"

The young cub looked downward, seeing now the slight transparency of the clouds. He saw below him the huddle of vultures, busily working on something that Simba knew all too well was him. He hiccupped a little, trying to stop himself from breaking out into a sob once more. The starry lionesses words comforted him. _You will watch over them from above…._

"Yeah Dad… I'm ready."


End file.
